


Welcome Back

by gigantic



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Frottage, Los Angeles Kings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's not sure he expected to end up here with Tyler this soon after his plane touched down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Back

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted on Tumblr first. I cleaned it up a bit more and now it's here. Any remaining errors are an oversight.

What Martin missed the most about Tyler over the summer is his smell. He doesn't fully realize it until they're back in LA and Tyler hugs him. It's not the hug in the airport when he picks Martin up, because Martin's too busy noticing LA again then -- the way the city smells different than Vancouver, like the dryness of it clings to all of his senses.

They walk to the parking garage mostly side-by-side, or they would be, but Tyler keeps taking wide arcs around other people's luggage or little kids and then bumping into Martin's side on purpose when he yo-yos back into his orbit. He chuckles every time their bodies brush. Martin grabs his arm on one pass, feeling the warmth of Tyler's skin there, maybe from riding here with the window down, arm resting on the sill. His isn't tanned unevenly. Martin wonders how long it'll take for both of them to suffer that. September may be here already but Los Angeles is in the middle of a heat wave.

It's in Martin's house when Tyler hugs him again, sidling up from behind while Martin starts to work on his luggage. He's unzipping a suitcase on his bed and Tyler touches his sides, pressing his face into Martin's back.

"Man, aren't you hot in this?" he asks.

Martin's wearing two layers because it'd been cool in Vancouver that morning. It's true that it's too much now. He turns around, sliding in Tyler's hands. Tyler lets him pull off one of the shirts but edges close again immediately, face grazing Martin's collar, and his hair smells like the shampoo Martin's gotten used to him using. He can also smell the lady deodorant Tyler prefers, soft and a little sweet. Tyler's excuse is that he says he hates that men's deodorant brands never have anything that just smells like powder, something simple. Martin hasn't even given him that much shit for it, and catching a whiff only makes him realize that he's felt the absence of that combination, got used to it wafting off of Tyler fresh from the shower after a game as they fall into step on the way out of arenas.

Summer was fine. They texted and talked on the phone some, and they didn't even -- Martin has no idea how Tyler kisses, but he hasn't even been on the ground in LA for two hours and he's already thinking back to the tipsy nights of June or even the instances in April where they were so tired they got loopy. They've known each other for a few years, but in the spring it suddenly felt like they were always a shot or punch drunk suggestion away from tempting a few maybes. They hadn't pressed those curious moments. They haven't, not yet, but Tyler's warm and he smells familiar. They aren't anything to each other but friends, but Martin _missed_ Tyler.

That thought makes him pitch forward, leaning into the hug. He breathes in deep.

"Whoa," Tyler says, momentarily losing his balance.

Martin wonders what Tyler would do if he rocked them back the other way, plunging onto the bed. He can picture Tyler locking his elbows to plant his hands and keep safe distance, but he can also imagine that Tyler doesn't. He'd get that scrunched expression he always does when he's trying to ignore an impulse and then let himself fail. Martin can see it clearly.

At first he felt a little ridiculous about how much he'd begun to think about Tyler. They work together. It seemed pointless to waste time thinking more and more about someone he sees most days of the year. There's nothing to gain from thinking about the way Tyler's hair starts to curl near his ear as it gets longer or the way Tyler freezes up when he's anticipating a sneeze or how he starts blinking a million times when he's sleepy, like if he lets any part of himself relax at all he'll just be out.

Martin felt silly for it until they were sitting in the airport in New Hampshire together, counting down the minutes until they could get on their plane west. They sat across from one another, Martin tracking Tyler's fingers as he tapped out an inconsistent rhythm on the arm of his seat. He tracked the beat and Tyler's hands, watching him fidget, only looking up the second Tyler paused in a way that felt deliberate. When Martin lifted his eyes, Tyler was watching him too. He didn't say anything, didn't ask "What?" or seem confused by it. His casualness made it feel comfortable, passively curious. They kept it up until a crew member got on the intercom to begin boarding. 

It's become a trend, or it was last season. They'd eye each other, content in it while others talked around them. Sometimes it'd get broken up by one of the guys on the team bringing them into a conversation or sometimes they'd mess it up themselves, Tyler starting to kick at Martin's foot until they were in some dumb shoe war, but it made all of it start to feel easy, like it made sense.

Martin likes looking. Tyler keeps looking back.

Thinking about reciprocity is what convinces Martin to go through with teetering. Tyler squawks, surprised, but a giggle chases the shock, and when Martin presses at the inside of his elbow, preventing him from locking them straight, Tyler collapses without hesitation.

The positions aren't comfortable. Their faces are an inch apart. 

Martin can feel the inevitable looming, like a roller coaster car tick, tick, ticking up to its highest point. 

Tyler runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Martin's not sure he expected to end up here this soon after touchdown. 

When he tilts sideways, Tyler frowns but he goes along. They switch positions, Martin tucking his face against Tyler's neck. His mouth ghosts across the skin. There isn't enough pressure for it to mean anything, but Tyler still hums softly like he catches onto something anyway. He bends a knee and Martin shifts just enough that his leg slips between Tyler's legs. Tyler curls his fingers around Martin's shoulder as he starts to squirm, slow but increasingly exploratory. It's still a hug, but Martin's pulse kick steps. 

He shoves his suitcase off the bed as he works his way lower against Tyler's torso, trying to figure out how to get closer and get away at the same time. He trips up when he notices the way the button on Tyler's pants look halfway undone, like if he twists the right way it might actually come apart on its own. Martin reaches to help out, pushing it through the hole and Tyler curses above him and slides his palm over Martin's hair. 

Slipping his hand into Tyler's pants just seems to make the most sense. He doesn't fully think about touching Tyler, about curving his fingers over Tyler's cock through underwear until he makes a clipped whining sound.

Martin looks up. He wants to see Tyler's face when he makes that noise.

What he sees is the rosiness of Tyler's cheeks first. His eyes are closed but flutter open because Martin moving his head has Tyler's fingers trail down onto his face. His thumb touches just at the side of Martin's eye, and Martin tightens his grip, watching as Tyler's mouth drops open slowly. 

Tyler arches his back, and Martin pulls his body higher as he moves his hand away from Tyler's front. He works the zipper lower and then slides around to the back, cupping Tyler's ass as he tries to bring their hips closer, rocking his thigh against Tyler's cock. 

He can't stop looking at how flushed Tyler's gotten after only a couple minutes. Tyler's blunt fingernails dig into Martin's tricep, as if he can change the pace somehow. He doesn't try, but his hand stays there like a safety precaution. The friction isn't enough to get anyone off, it's just winding them up in the middle of the day. 

"You're all red," Martin whispers, because it's creeping everywhere, it's amazing, and Tyler tries to hide his face by hugging Martin closer, ducking his head under his chin. 

"I can't help it," he says, as if Martin was complaining. Shit, it's cute. 

Inevitable, Martin thinks, and he's already behind the eight ball. He squeezes Tyler's ass and thrusts against him a little harder, a promise, and asks, "what makes you come the hardest?" 

Because he wants to know. He wants to give it to Tyler and discover a lot more. He wants them to wrap themselves together like this as much as possible, distracting each other from things they were in the middle of because what they've got happening is more consuming.

"Fuck," Tyler says and raises his head enough to press their foreheads together. "fuck, fuck."

"Tyler -- "

" _Kiss_ me," Tyler demands, pleads like someone who's been waiting since an airport gate in February. 

It's almost overwhelming to think about, this thing crackling under the surface, collecting firepower until it's right here, ready to blow Martin away. It feels comfortable until it feels like too much, and once the coaster's over the hill the ride doesn't stop. They're all in. 

He is going to kiss Tyler.

Martin has to tip his head to side a fraction to do it, catching Tyler's lips as they rut against one another in Martin's bed. He moans against Tyler's mouth, appreciating the easy way Tyler goes from something chaste to wet and a little filthy. The smell of Tyler's getting spread all over the blankets. He's going to be all around, all over Martin for a while, and almost nothing he did during the summer stacks up in comparison.


End file.
